


The Mother's Day Affair

by kyburg



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Benjamin Kowalski deserves a decent partner, Climbing up and down your family tree, Dates from Hell, F/M, Gen, If it fits it ships, Just the BBS on packet update relay, M/M, Necessity is a real mother, Not what you saw, Not what you thought, Or cell phones, Original Characters OMG, Parenthood, Plot Bunny Bit Hard With This One, There was no internet in the 80's, What Illya Kuryakin did when he went home at night - Freeform, What Napoleon Solo did when he wasn't an UNCLE agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyburg/pseuds/kyburg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1985, a few years past the events in the “Fifteen Years Later Affair,” Napoleon and Illya have continued on with the lives they had founded in the span after UNCLE, taking on the rather comfortable life of working again for the espionage agency as time and demand permits.</p>
<p>When a person from Napoleon’s near past interrupts their lives with a life and death struggle to claim her share of her late mother’s estate and protect one brother from another, both UNCLE agents have to confront the fact that they have known (and loved) the same woman – just at both ends of her life.  </p>
<p>The proof is in the guise of a fierce woman with hair the color of light honey, and a small boy with a mop of dark curls and bright, inquisitive brown eyes.  Both of them in the cross-hairs of a man willing to end their lives to secure his future as the head of one of the largest multinational corporations in recent history - and their own brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mother's Day Affair

**Author's Note:**

> When I was working for an airport shuttle company, finishing up college in 1983, I had the good luck/misfortune of being up at 3 AM in the overnight holding area at LAX after watching the “Fifteen Years Later Affair” – and was promptly bit by the most tenacious plot bunny ever to bite the unsuspecting. 
> 
> "What would it be like if Napoleon and Illya discovered they had known - and fallen in love - with the same woman?" (And what would she have been like?)
> 
> Thirty years later. I can hardly believe it, but finally these people are out of my head and into yours. Enjoy.
> 
> **WAIT WAIT THERE'S ART** Go check mayamaia's lovely portrait - [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2473877) and thank her for me, wouldya?

This simply had to be what it meant to be content, Napoleon Solo thought as he took another long sip of tea, sitting in the posh quiet of the Russian Tea Room across the table from Illya Kuryakin as he looked over the latest set of drawings his friend had brought him.

They were nothing less than the fall line for Vanya’s, and they were very, very good.

“Oh, this is lovely,” he heard himself purr, turning the page in the portfolio. “Illya, I would say I’m surprised you had this in you – but I’m not. I’m absolutely delighted for you. What a beautiful mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Illya, for his part, was having more fun with an electronic calculator Napoleon had brought him to try out, one that would easily replace the slide ruler he still kept handy and remind him of his next appointment at the same time. “I’m not sure coming from you it’s a compliment, Napoleon,” he replied warmly, attention focused entirely on the small liquid crystal display. “It does keep one occupied between missions.”

“For which I am eternally grateful, old friend,” Napoleon added, turning a page and blinking in surprise. Cutting edge fashion in 1985 often ran the gamut of risqué to playful, with little stops along the way at adorable, flashy and kitschy. But this, this was Vanya’s style – timeless, elegant and demure. It bespoke nothing less than class, style and worship at the feet of the human form but with a hint of the modern - cutting the neckline just so, snugging the bodice to the waist in a way that was both bold but flattering. The hemlines were neither too long or too short – that was not Vanya’s way - but always held an air of surprise with trumpet skirts, box-pleated waists and full circle skirts with crinoline petticoats trimmed with Chantilly lace. The color swatches attached were in shades of teal and peach, some with fuchsia and aqua as their key lights. Very much at the head of the color trends of the day and Napoleon could almost see the hand drawn figures come to life from the pages he held, skirts fluttering and twirling as their models danced on the catwalk. “Do you know old friend, our paths did cross a while back? I’d forgotten - I’d taken the young daughter of a friend of mine to get the dress for her senior prom at Vanya’s, back in the day. Must have been shortly after you got started, what – 1970 or so, I think it was.”

“Good heavens, I think we were still working out of my apartment. Whatever made you do that, I wonder?” Looking up, Illya’s face was a study in bemused befuddlement. “Nobody had even heard of Vanya’s then – we’d hardly had two or three seasons under our belt.”

His eyebrows raised, Napoleon could only shake his head, smiling wryly as he turned yet another page. “Maybe it was just the name, but I had a colleague who wouldn’t settle for anything but this obscure new designer she’d heard about. Boy, it takes me back.”

“Taking a daughter shopping for her prom dress seems a little out of place for you,” Illya remarked, turning off the calculator before storing it in an inside jacket pocket. “Robbing the cradle again, were you?”

“Only you would think such a thing,” Napoleon said, “My friend Liz’s daughter was terribly shy, no offers to take her to her prom. When I offered to chaperone, you would have thought a miracle had been dropped in their laps – how could I say no? You dressed both of us. For a high school prom.”

Illya’s laugh was an explosive puff of air, nearly silent but wry. “You wore my designs without knowing it. I can hardly believe it.”

Becoming thoughtful for a moment, Napoleon began searching his pockets. “Wait a moment, I think – yes, I’m sure of it. There! Here’s a picture of us – “

It was a standard photograph, posed like every other one that would be taken that night by the hired photographer and a Napoleon Solo very much like he had been when Illya had last seen him before he’d left UNCLE looked back out of the photograph. The edges were getting worn and a bit frayed, but it was the girl standing next to him that caught Illya’s attention. “What was her name?” he asked. “Do I know her?”

“No, no – you’ve never met. As I said, the daughter of a friend – a colleague, actually. We did good work designing computer systems together once. Kind of hoped we could merge the companies, but her husband wouldn’t come to the table. Family business and all that, no chance of moving forward without him.” Holding the 2 x 4 photograph by one edge and holding it up in the air between the two of them, Napoleon sighed as he remembered. “A real shame. Last I heard, they were having a harder time of it than I was – and we both know how close I came to closing everything down for good when UNCLE came calling.”

“Her name, Napoleon.”

“What? Oh! Yes, of course. Veronika, with a k. Our Nika, as we called her. Old Romany family, come to the States to seek their fortune, the old man would say.” The young girl in the photograph was no older than nineteen, slight of build and barely reached Napoleon’s shoulder in height, dressed in lavender swirls of China silk, pin-tucked yoke with leg o’mutton sleeves, fitted bodice to a gathered waist and a long skirt that brushed the ground over white patent shoes that peeked out under the dust ruffle. It was the neckline that set it apart, deep and square with a detached collar that would have doubled as a choker except for the tiny pin-tucked ruffle encircling the top. Lacy gloves in the same lavender were on her hands, clasping Napoleon’s arm securely, her head resting on his shoulder, eyes shining over a demure smile. “Her eyes were nearly violet, they were so blue wearing that color – I think the dress came off the rack, now that I think about it.”

“It’s a good color for her, shame her hair is such a middling shade.”

“Nonsense, Illya – it’s just the photograph getting a bit old, is all. Beautiful blonde hair, the color of an amber honey when you held the jar to the light! A beautiful girl, our Nika – “ 

Illya was stunned to see Napoleon’s jaw firm and his eyes flash as the grip he held on the old photograph tightened.

“Napoleon – “ Illya heard the shocked tone his voice had taken on as soon as his friend’s name left his mouth, chuckling to cover his surprise. “I meant no insult, honestly! Defending the lady’s honor, are you now? How long has it been since you saw her – them – last?”

Pursing his lips, Napoleon blew air as he gave the photograph another long stare, then put it away with care as his expression faded and grew distant. “Must be…ten years or so. Can’t believe that much time has passed, so quickly now. Apologies, Illya. They were very good…close friends. The parting was not of my choosing.”

“I believe I shall be jealous,” his blond friend announced, catching the eye of the waiter to order another round of tea, adding a plate of Russian cookies, the apricot jam spilling ever so slightly out from under their meringue crusts. “That would appear to be the most practical thing to do at the moment. Honestly, Napoleon – do you ever shut it off? You’re old enough to be her father.”

“I was, my friend. I am still, as you might imagine. It was a favor to her mother, nothing more. And if Nika was beautiful, you should have seen her mother.”

“I am jealous, and therefore not motivated.”

“Ah, there’s that pout I remembered so well, indeed.”

“Jealous. As I said.”

Napoleon only smiled, sighing. Illya was a good friend, as intuitive as ever. Perhaps he had shown his hand too much, and now he would have to defend himself against the well-meant jabs. It was Illya’s way to distract him – he did miss Liz, and Nika. And the years of creative and professional success he had known designing systems back then with her, the collaboration between companies that should have garnered nothing but success and bright futures.

Perhaps he should ask the girls managing the clip files to look them up and see if anything had hit the newspapers lately about them. Surely there would be something about Liz’s husband, their son who would be the heir to the company.

And then a balled up straw wrapper hit him between the eyes. _“Napoleon.”_

Smiling, he looked up. “Illya.”

The other man was sitting back in his chair, arms folded in mock offense, head cocked with a frown creasing his forehead and darkening his eyes. “I am now vexed and in need of attention, you absolute cur of a man. Sensing a long and fascinating bit of personal history that you are now going to share with me…of course you are…I have taken the liberty of ordering vodka, which you are going to pay for. We shall sit here, drink the finest they have to offer us and you will now tell me everything you know about these two people.”

Closing the portfolio with deft, square hands, tapping the cover with a finger to make his point, he indicated with a wave of the same hand to the waiter holding a silver tray with a cold bottle, and two small icy glasses that Napoleon was to be served first. Then he placed two fingers to his temple, propping the arm up at the elbow with the other hand, adopting an expression of unbearable ennui. “This is an incredibly elaborate act, I might let you know – playing the wounded artiste, Napoleon. I would appreciate it if you would not encourage me to continue it much longer or I might enjoy it too much and never end the charade.”

“Of course, old chum. And I deeply appreciate it.” Taking the small glass, his saluted Illya, tossing the vodka shot back as he did the same, sitting forward to rest his arms on the table. Leaning into the other man’s space, Napoleon looked into Illya’s face and tried to reassure him with a pleasant expression. “I am a rogue, no more or less. As you know. Another.”

“You engaged the affections of a married woman.” Illya looked into his eyes, his expression, neither damming nor encouraging, just stating the obvious.

“Actually, she was the one to approach me, and it took years to wear me down, warm me up to the idea. I was far too intimidated by her husband, strange as that might sound.”

Illya pursed his lips. “Oooh, I think I like her already. She must have wanted something from you very badly, to pursue you at all. Trade secrets, or something more valuable?”

Waiting patiently as Illya poured the two of them another round, Napoleon hummed under his breath, gathering his thoughts. “She was one of the few people I’ve ever known who could be content with her own company, but desperately lonely in a crowd. Liz would say I was her quiet space, isn’t that an odd thing to be called?” Sipping the drink, he waited until Illya wryly toasted him and did the same.

“You loved every word,” Illya said, turning his glass upside down. “Now, no more until you give me some details. Or I’ll just assume you made them all up one miserable night in that dreary office of yours.”

“That would make this all considerably easier, old partner of mine. They appeared in my life by serendipity, and they disappeared just as swiftly.” Pulling a filofax from the inside pocket of his jacket, Napoleon also drew out a mechanical pencil as he laid the personal organizer on the table, turning to a blank page and began making some notes. “Summer, 1968…not in San Francisco or Chicago, thank God. I was in the wilds of Kansas, of all places, meeting with someone who thought replacing the paper the current –at that time- computer punch cards used with a polymer had merit, particularly when they were working on a way to do it from feedlot selvage. I met the whole family then – Liz, her husband Stefan and her two children, Nika and Sergiu.”

“Romany, you said. Very Romany, it sounds like.” Illya watched as Napoleon drew a small family of stick figures, writing their names underneath. “Were they always in the electronics business?”

“Actually, I think they were farmers in the beginning,” Napoleon answered. “Liz called herself nothing more than a farmer’s daughter when she was being modest, and I got the impression they had actually sold the farm to fund the first of their own ventures. I’m not sure who was better at seeking their own fortune, Liz or that husband of hers – if they gave you a tip in the stock market, you were a fool not to take it. But they were there in Topeka, as I was, at an inventor’s fair. The children were bored teenagers, Stefan was a bored, overbearing father and Liz somehow made it a grand adventure in spite of them.”

The little sketches began to take on features, the “mother” gaining a head of wildly unkempt hair that reached halfway down her body, the “father” taking on a full beard and mustache, sharp slashes of dark pencil creating his hair. The daughter got a lighter hand as her hair was drawn in, but just as wild as her mother’s, the smallest figure of the four taking on the characteristics of the father figure. “You didn’t mention the boy, or his father much,” Illya said quietly. 

“They were two peas from the same pod, bitter and moody,” Napoleon answered. “We never got along outside of business, which was fine. I kind of wondered what Stefan was thinking, allowing so many people access to his wife…until I realized that was how he managed to generate any goodwill towards the company, let alone make any business contacts that would be helpful to him. Liz did all that, and very well I might add.”

“A strange marriage,” Illya said, growling a bit, “You were not the only one who was favored by her, I take it?”

“Happy families are all alike, unhappy families are unhappy in all different kinds of ways,” Napoleon said wistfully. “It would be many years before Liz would confide any of the details of her marriage to Stefan to me…and I wonder if that wasn’t the reason she suddenly stopped talking to me and disappeared once she had. It might have put her in danger with the family, I was never certain.”

“You still think to protect her,” Illya noted. “You still haven’t mentioned the family name.”

“And perhaps, I won’t. Not yet.” Biting his lip, he stopped drawing and looked up at Illya. “It was a long time ago, and as I said – not of my choosing, so forgive me. Old friend.”

“I find myself in a charitable frame of mind, so I will indulge you. This once,” Illya said, waggling one finger at Napoleon. “You have some better resources at your disposal these days to discern what happened to them, you realize.”

“And an excellent research assistant ready and willing to assist as well, I am sure,” Napoleon replied. “I am also fairly certain it would not go well for us to go snooping on UNCLE’s time – “

“But when did that ever stop us?”

Looking up at Illya, feeling his face draw tight into a smile, Napoleon chuckled. “Not long, that’s certain! It just seems so – self-indulgent.”

Teasing out the Filofax from under Napoleon’s hands, Illya took a fond look at his little doodle. “Considering how few of your own are left on the ground these days, Napoleon – I would be happy to find out what happened to your little family here.”

“They were not mine,” Napoleon muttered, albeit warmly.

“Romany! Now that’s a subject I haven’t visited in too long – ah, Napoleon! You will give me ideas for the Spring Collection at this rate!”

“And I will make certain there are barcode systems to put price tags on them.” Flipping the two glasses over, Napoleon quickly poured two more shots from the bottle of vodka. “Business! Long may it give our lives direction, purpose and meaning.”

“To absent friends.”

“And may we be fortunate enough to find them again.”

###

Returning to his office, Napoleon was immediately accosted by his secretary with a small stack of phone calls to return, plus a packet of clips from the newspaper clipping services he employed. “Ellie, did you happen to look through this batch?” 

It was all very expected, Ellie acted much as she always had, terribly efficient and invisible at the same time. “The company is playing well in the news these days – no connection to UNCLE.”

Noting Illya had received much the same kind of welcome from Ellie (an equally high stack of phone message notes), Napoleon stepped inside their office to put the notes and package down on his desk, idling watching Illya do much the same. “Thank you, Ellie. Sir John is in residence, I take it?”

“Agents Kowalski and Patz are monopolizing his time at the moment, but yes.”

“Let him know the two of us have returned, if he happens to find a need.”

And with that, they were left very much on their own. Sharing an office was hardly difficult when it was as well-appointed as this one was – a window that actually looked out over Times Square, light wood paneling, carpeting and potted plants completing the picture. The desks faced each other, blotters, lamps, phones and other desk accessories identical and in mirror image to the other, the only difference the business cards neatly stacked on Napoleon’s side and the stack of fashion photographs collected on Illya’s. Sitting down to pick up the phones to begin returning calls, one or the other would catch an eye or a smile as they made short work of the calls, turning to the terminals installed on the side facing away from the window, the screens lit in brilliant green against black, one singular cursor blinking.

UNCLE was a quiet place under the leadership of Sir John Raleigh, nearly in mothballs but still going about its business of watching the world around it, collecting intelligence and thinking long thoughts. THRUSH was still out there, carefully hidden much as UNCLE was but Napoleon was reasonably certain each organization knew the other better than the conventional wisdom would admit, and that more than any other single reason was why there was peace between them in this Reagan era.

There was even talk of the Berlin Wall coming down. What would it be like for Illya to return home, Napoleon thought as he watched his friend comb through his files to find a folder, then pick up the phone to call downstairs to records. Return home on a commercial flight, no barrier or fear of recognition or forced repatriation. He knew UNCLE made it possible for him to avoid a formal defection, but at the same time, Napoleon also knew Illya had not seen his birthplace in over three decades.

Picking up the phone, he placed a call of his own. “Lois! Glad you’re there, listen. I need to add some names to the clip list – and if you’ve got anything from the last ten years, I want it.” Hoping Illya was too wrapped up in his own work to notice, Napoleon twirled his pen between his first two fingers as he spoke. “A few old company names. See if there’s any activity. Dalma Wines. Pavlo Industries. Sardelich and Associates. Sardelich Industries. Family name Sardelich – “

But Illya hadn’t been occupied enough to avoid the sound of that name. The sound of the phone receiver hitting its cradle, and then the smack of Illya’s hand falling to the desk blotter brought Napoleon’s attention back up to see his old friend’s face blanch, the eyes wide and jaw falling open.

“First names Stefan, Elizaveta, Veronika, Sergiu – and that’s it for now, Lois. I have to go. Call if you find anything.” Quickly hanging up the phone, Napoleon folded his hands and waited for Illya. He didn’t rush to his side, he didn’t demand to know what was wrong.

Illya had known that name. Napoleon let him have the moment to put his thoughts together. “You couldn’t have known,” Illya’s voice caught, then steadied as he cleared his throat. “Or perhaps you had, and didn’t remember.”

“Illya –“ Napoleon began, then halted again. Waited a breath. “It’s a common enough name among the Romany, and yes, I remembered it was in your file. But there was never a whisper of any connection to you, I swear it. These people – “

“You would tell me, if it were otherwise, yes? If you had the smallest hint – “

Sighing, Napoleon reached across the desk to cover Illya’s hand with his own. “You brought that old man with you when you first came to UNCLE? I remember that. Peter, his name was, wasn’t it?”

“Petar,” Illya mumbled, rubbing the other hand over his face. “I owed him my life.”

“I remember,” Napoleon added softly. “While the rest of the world wondered what Illya Kuryakin did with himself when he went home at night, I was one of the few who actually knew. You were caring for the man who risked his life to bring you to the West, away from Soviet Russia. Petar Sardelich. He died soon after you reached UNCLE, though – “

Lips pressed tightly together, Illya looked down, then away. “He died without clan or family, only me. He was no relation of mine, except for the promise I made his daughter – yes, he had one, Napoleon. That – I never put in any file, never told anyone. The names – it isn’t possible.”

Feeling the first tingles of a hunch slide down his spine, realizing that something much larger was being revealed to him than where he had been born, or who had given Illya his first lessons in espionage, Napoleon found himself holding his breath, willing Illya to continue until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Sardelich was her married name, Illya.”

“Can you be sure? Truly? Did she ever tell you what name she was born with?” Turning his hand so his palm met Napoleon’s, Illya gave his hand a quick clasp before standing and crossing to Napoleon’s side of the desk to retrieve his Filofax, taking out the quick sketch Napoleon had done. “Petar’s daughter – would not have given her name up without a fight, particularly to a man who barely had one of his own. Are there photographs of your Liz, Napoleon?”

Silently, he opened a drawer, drawing out an accordion file labeled “Sardelich & Associates,” unwound the string holding the clasp together. Inside were many annual reports, and Napoleon drew out the latest one. “There are several, old friend. This would be the newest one, about five years old. She stopped posing for the reports after her husband died.”

“He’s dead? That Stefan – “ Taking the glossy stock report, Illya opened it to the table of contents and froze.

The look on Illya’s face when he saw the photograph of Liz Sardelich on the last annual report her picture appeared in would remain with Napoleon to his dying day, he was certain of it. Not broken, no – that would never have been Illya’s way. Recognition, a flash of sadness, regret passing just as quickly before a mask of anger hard and brilliant settled over his features. But Napoleon had known Illya Kuryakin a long time. He waited for the moments to pass before he spoke again. “That Stefan, yes. Is dead. Dead now for almost five years, I believe. A horrible death, Illya. Dementia, confinement to an institution, took over a decade to kill him – death. He’s gone.”

And he took out the newer annual reports, one of them with only a simple black cover with the name “Stefan Sardelich 1933 – 1980” on it, turning it to face Illya. “This one – has more pictures of him in it, as you might expect. Please stop looming over me, old friend. Take a seat.”

“Have stranger things happened to us, that this can be taken in stride?” Illya muttered, pulling a chair close to Napoleon before seating himself in it. “Perhaps I should have not kept that secret, but I feared for her, Napoleon. Stefan – “ And then the report’s page fell open and Illya stopped talking entirely. “It’s him,” he said simply, shutting the report and handing it back to Napoleon, one hand wiping his face.

###

“Illya! Illya, darling – catch me!” 

Fall came earlier to the lands that bordered Romania in the Ukraine. Chilly, even dressed in all the woolen clothing Petar and his daughter Elizaveta had been able to glean from their meager wardrobe storage, Illya had found himself enjoying working in the fields surrounding their little camp bringing in the harvest they had managed to glean from an abandoned farm. Hay, some late summer squashes, potatoes and other root vegetables, they had all found their way into the barn someone had left behind after the war, Elizaveta eagerly tossing the fodder into the loft as Illya carefully stored the rest in the root cellar. Their old pony might only graze in the fields, but come winter would appreciate the hay they put aside for him.

Looking up, he saw her standing on the edge of the loft, arms flung wide with a look of pure impish joy on her face – just before she leaped off the ledge, fully expecting him to catch her. Marveling at the amount of trust she placed in him, feeling his arms close neatly around her as he brought her to him, her hands finding the sides of his head to draw him into a kiss – Illya Kuryakin, recently divested of Kiev, was discovering that escaping from the Russian Army did have some unexpected benefits, not the least of which was a Romany farmer’s daughter who had taken one look at him and announced that she would not live without him.

The months that had followed had not dissuaded him. Her father, a spry and wily widower with only the one daughter, had accepted Illya with as open a welcome as he could have dreamed of, calling him the answer to his and Elizaveta’s poor late mother’s prayers. Seen as a strong, solid block of a man, hard-working and smart, Illya found himself for the first time in his young life the center of affectionate attention, enough food, warmth and care.

And Elizaveta truly loved him, delighted by everything he did – from chopping wood to restringing an ancient balalaika Petar had put by at some point, and playing it for them. 

They would all escape to the west together, they only were awaiting word for when their contact would reach them to take them further into Yugoslavia, where exit visas and passage to New York would be possible.

Nothing more was expected of Illya than that. Elizaveta had not proposed marriage as much as she had explained it, demanded it and now expected it as her due. “You have something else to do, perhaps my Illyusha mine? You, who will love and care for me, no matter what?”

It had been no chore to teach her English, it had been a delight. Realizing she possessed the intelligence to do much more than simple figures and languages, Illya had spent long evenings giving her every bit of the education he possessed as she taught him everything she knew about being Romany. 

He remembered her dark hair, thick and black as night, reaching below her waist when she unbraided it. Keeping it in a thick braid down her back, tendrils would corkscrew their way around her face as they escaped confinement, framing her heart-shaped face in a way that only made Illya want to kiss her as he played with them, teasing them into ringlets while she looked up at him and combed her fingers through his hair, claiming it was finer than any silk she could know.

She would practice saying the word “blue” in as many languages as Illya could remember, looking up into his eyes, tracing a light finger over his eyebrows, and he would answer back with the word “violet” in describing her own, farm-roughed hands caressing her face as he laid gentle kisses to her brow, cheeks and lips.

Then one night, she said to him “I think I want more,” and drew him away to the barn where she had banked the hay, spread blankets over it and placed one lantern nearby. Seeing him safely in her bower, she had extinguished the lantern and gently undressed him, expecting no resistance and receiving none, he responding in kind.

It wasn’t that she wanted to live inside him – she wanted him to reside inside her heart with her, no secrets, no hindrances. Illya had never known such a state of being, wary and uncertain for far too long, trust never given without a penalty for attempting it. Yet, for her it was as easy as breathing – he was her treasure, her future and he never felt less than cherished, certain that whatever would come, it would have her at his side, her hand in his and her merry laughter ringing in his ears.

She accepted his silences, his reluctances to share some of the dark places in him with only a patient look and a kiss to his forehead. She said the word “love” seldom, yet it was implicit in the way she fed him, looked to his hurts and listened into his silences. Tracing some of the scars left on his body when she loved him in the waning light of day, she said nothing but often kissed them as if that alone would heal them into memory.

When the contact they had been waiting for arrived, Illya saw his world turn upside down, however. Instead of the group they had been expecting – another Romany family, perhaps, he would never be sure – two brash young men had arrived. One was the guide, the other another traveler like themselves, looking for a way to the West.

Stefan Gulea, and Illya found old habits and reactions resurfacing as he watched the other man sit across the table from he and Elizaveta. He was a dark, rangy man, full of angles and hooded glances. Hungry as Illya had been when he had first arrived, he at first ate every bit of food they could put in front of him…then dressed him in every spare piece of clothing they could find for him. But the way he looked at Elizaveta chilled him in a way nothing else about him did. Stefan simply took everything as his due, even as the hospitality was offered to him.

Nothing in the days that followed changed his first impression of Stefan – Illya had known he had been called a lone wolf, knew he had earned the epithet, but in Stefan he saw it for himself. He stayed close to the guide, who never did identify himself and only looked at Elizaveta and himself with silent stares. The guide had only come prepared to transport one other person, and time would have to pass while arrangements were made to transport the other two. The youngest three of their party worked the farm while they waited.

Elizaveta found herself shadowed by Stefan, and it frightened her. Petar would object, and correct Stefan in Illya’s defense but the day Stefan confronted Illya and told him Elizaveta was going to be his, it had been when only the two of them could hear, with neither Petar or the guide present to witness it. It hadn’t been couched as anything but a statement of fact, Stefan’s hard face very set, ice blue eyes glittering in a way that made Illya wonder if he wasn’t mad. And very certain that no amount of denial would reach him, and from then on both of them feared Stefan. After all, he had been the only one to arrive into their little group with his own cache of weapons, and no small knowledge of how to end a life or reluctance to share it. Illya, remembering where he had come from, could not confront Stefan without being appearing disingenuous. Trying to keep Elizaveta close invited complaints and taunts from both of the men – after all, no formal marriage had been registered, nor could there be until their journeys were complete and their falsified identities became real. Petar believed Stefan was a threat, reassured Illya where nobody else could hear them, but believed what he had been told. They were all going to leave, together. Stefan was no more of a danger to them, as they were to him. But Petar never heard Stefan state in the matter of fact way he had claimed every spare resource on the farm since his arrival that Elizaveta was as much his due as the extra food and clothing. The day Stefan hinted that perhaps it would better if there were no further obstacles to his travel, Illya watched Elizaveta’s face close off, and she refused to tell her father any more.

Perhaps, if they had, they could have been more on their guard.

The morning Petar had woken to find the guide dead, his daughter and the credentials to travel to Yugoslavia missing, Illya had thought he might have to bury the old man right there in the ground he had tilled waiting to leave it forever. They had never found out how Stefan had managed it, the guide simply lifeless in his bed without any sign of a struggle. Perhaps the two of them had escaped a poisoning, perhaps Stefan had thought leaving them alive enough of a mercy now that he had what he wanted.

Illya only knew she was gone, without a trace or a hope of finding her again and her father was lost without her.

They retraced the steps it had taken to find someone with the means to get them through Yugoslavia, and in them UNCLE had found Illya and formally recruited him. Illya had brought them both to New York, finding a place for Petar Sardelich, acting as the son he had hoped he would be until Petar died not long after the third anniversary of their arrival, as lost and heartbroken a creature as Illya hoped he would never see again. 

Alexander Waverly had left an entry about Petar Sardelich in Illya’s file, but Illya never said a word about the girl who had taken him to heart, believing that Stefan must have had taken some hold over her, forced her to go with him to protect her father, and himself.

And for himself, Illya became the agent UNCLE needed. Putting thoughts of ever finding another aside, he became the friend, the brother, the partner, the confidant…and the spy who rarely, if ever, came in from the cold. If he ever looked for a familiar face in a crowd, remembered a heart-shaped face with violet eyes, he never said. 

Not until Napoleon had asked his assistant to start collecting newspaper clips. And showed him a successful businesswoman’s annual report for a multi-national company filled with the pictures of Stefan Gulea, who had taken Elizaveta’s name for his own and hidden himself in plain sight.

Dead now. Beyond any recriminations or penalties Illya could ever have heaped upon him. 

_“Illya! Illya, darling – catch me!”_

###

The day had ended in the apartment Aunt Amy had left Napoleon in her will, much of the décor not needing to be changed as much as updated and modernized for his use. Napoleon watched Illya step over the threshold into one of the most obvious examples of American excess he himself knew of, wary as always and looking about with the cagey expression he knew meant Illya was tallying the cost of the furnishings, measuring them against some mental yardstick only he knew.

Some times Illya would break his silence and say something like “You know, that vase could feed a family of five for six months, Napoleon.”

And perhaps, he had retaliated unfairly by reminding Illya any of his frocks would cost much the same, and Illya only smiled wryly and shrugged it off.

Tonight was not one of those nights. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to keep discussing this part of Illya’s past in the office, and Napoleon had suggested moving the conversation to the living room of his home. If he had been surprised when the offer had been accepted, he hadn’t shown it.

He’d made some of Aunt Amy’s Remedy – hot chocolate, heavily laced with brandy.

And Napoleon told his oldest friend as much as he could remember about the woman he had only known as Liz, the deft way she had navigated her life with a controlling spouse, gaining her education in spite of being expected to help run the family business, raise the children and keep her husband satisfied. She had been nothing short of spectacularly successful.

Illya had only asked to look at Nika’s picture once more, staring at the high school girl with the same thick, heavy hair as her mother – only lightened to a leaf brown, her face more square with the same violet eyes. He didn’t say anything, and Napoleon knew better than to state the obvious. But still, he couldn’t leave the topic entirely alone.

Napoleon was very fond of Nika Sardelich, and as much as he missed her mother, he realized he had missed seeing Nika come into her own and hoped in the years since they had parted, had found a way to get her own back.

“Everyone expects Sergiu to take the helm of the company, but I don’t think Liz was foolish enough to leave it to him,” he said into a silence, looking out the picture windows into Central Park. “Nobody really curried Nika to take over either, but she certainly had the smarts for it. Had she been a boy, there would have been no doubt who the successor would have been. Sergiu is his father’s child, that’s what I remember the most about him. He and Stefan would simply go off on their own, no matter what else was going on, a couple of moody little parasites…if you ask me. Neither of them really capable of making the business work without Liz’s help, and as Nika got older, she added to that herself as well. Stefan was a bully, plain and simple. If you needed someone to force a sale, twist the arm of a supplier for a delivery date – he was your guy, no problem.”

“How is it someone like that lives, prospers and dies in his bed?” Illya had made a wry face at the sweet drink, but continued to sip it, warming his hands around the mug it came in. 

“Simple,” Napoleon said, raising his mug in tribute. “Liz would have it no other way. If she could not be safely rid of him, she would make sure nobody else had to suffer him. I always got the impression she had things well in hand with him, as if she had negotiated a truce with him in return for the means to make him a success, and raise her children in safety. If she was a trophy wife, she made sure he at least appeared worthy enough to have one.”

Illya could only shake his head, falling silent. 

“Old friend, it was always possible she was protecting you. And her children.”

“Oh, I am certain of that,” Illya said, only the way he bit the ends of the words off betraying how he felt. “What in the world did I ever do to convince her I could not protect myself?”

“Probably whatever I did as well, Illya. She never said a word against either of her children or her husband where it would have been used against them. And never asked for my protection against her husband, and oh – I would have enjoyed that, pal. I would have welcomed that like a steak dinner!”

Illya turned his head to look at Napoleon, his face stretching into a small smile as he saw the fire in the other man’s dark eyes. “Did you love her too?” The Russian’s tone had grown wistful, and the question held no condemnation or jealousy, just a reluctant fondness Napoleon had heard seldom from the other man. Perhaps he had returned the smile, perhaps his expression had given it away but when Illya’s eyes closed and his breathing had evened out into light doze, Napoleon counted himself lucky to have dodged answering the question.

“Oh pal,” he said into the silence. “Love was the least of the things I had for that woman.”

It had answered the question Napoleon had long wondered, how she had disappeared so suddenly from his life. He had always suspected it had been to protect her family, but now he could be certain of it. If she had been willing to do it to Illya, well then – it certainly wouldn’t be hard to do again to him now, would it?

###

Getting dressed the morning after, Napoleon hadn’t risen from their shared bed but laid back and watched as Liz had swiftly collected her things from the hotel room, dressing herself with an economy and purpose that defined her as clearly as any other task he had seen her take on and execute to polished and perfect completion.

She was beautiful, he realized, without any additional artifice, but she dressed herself in the latest fashion, every accessory chosen for its impact and purpose. Tending her own hair, coiffed and controlled to bounce above her collar with heavy silver strands threading through the curls, she applied her make up with a deft, experienced hand. She spoke to him throughout the process, both about professional issues they had taken on together, heavily seasoned with fond anecdotes about her children…and the occasional pillow talk she directed towards him.

If she was the wife of one of the most successful men in business, it was just another job title with the accompanying duties. When she stopped to talk to him, about him, her voice dropped in timbre, slowed and the words took on a distinct cast he had only heard when she spoke to her children in praise. But he doubted she ever spoke to her children the way she spoke to him.

“Solo,” she had said, “Friend of my body and spirit, you know I just love you, yes?”

She had complained his first name was too long to say with any amount of lascivious intent, and she refused to co-opt Nika’s pet name, “Pasha.”

Then when she stopped to kiss him, nimble fingers finding purchase on his body where she had pressed against him the night before, warm and pliant, his hands touched and held her to him as well. “Do I need anything more, precious?” he had answered. “I love the way you simply come into my world and turn it upside down, you know that?”

“Hmmm!” Purring, she had threaded manicured fingers through his hair, mussing it just so before retreating. “It needed it!” Kissing him, she had done it with care, passion carefully held in reserve. When she pulled away, there had always been a bit of sorrow in her dark eyes, a measured look that often prompted him to ask what was wrong. But she only shook her head when asked, smiling softly.

“My darling, now that you have me – what are you planning to do with me next, hmm?” He often asked for some kind of clue what she thought the future might hold, it was clear her husband was not well, and she had been taking over more and more as the CEO and owner of the company they had built together. Napoleon had rarely thought of anything so permanent as marriage, but in Liz’s case, he had to reconsider. Their businesses had become intertwined over the years, the designs and partnerships successful and mutually beneficial to both of them. If they did not actually marry in earnest, the partnership they knew outside of the bedroom made the necessity moot.

He adored her daughter, tolerated her son. To Liz, that was as important as any business arrangement. The fact their Nika turned to him as Liz had turned to her father was no little source of comfort, and Napoleon’s willingness to step in to take over the fatherly duties Stefan had never shown interest in garnered him no little praise.

“Truly, Liz – I am no father figure, you’re flattering me!”

“Perhaps it is compensation for being such an awful man in your youth,” she would answer, violet eyes dancing. “You are a good man, my mister Solo. A very good man.”

“You are just in love,” Napoleon had answered, bussing the top of her head. “And I am merely a lucky man, not a good one.”

“Nonsense,” she had said. “I have known good men, and lucky men. The lucky man was my husband. A good man is you, all of your charm and wickedness aside. You will never fool me again.”

The business relationship never really ended, but suddenly Liz started declining his invitations to dinner, stopped taking his calls. There was always something he needed to do for the business, but the designing partnership took to the background as it became publicly apparent Stefan was gravely ill, and Liz decided to sequester herself “to care for him in his final days.”

He knew Nika had finished college, Sergiu attending (and dropping out) a few years behind her but after that the family as a whole dropped off the radar, and the annual reports that arrived every year provided Napoleon with the photographs and basic information he had interest left to crave. Napoleon had not appreciated being snubbed without any kind of warning or explanation, and it had taken years for him to stop feeling stung. 

After all, it had been Liz who had courted him, made him the object of her affair and then when duty called, dumped him without any explanation, leaving him to figure out the reason she no longer wanted to see him from the newspapers. Having been the one calling the shots, he had to admit it was only fair for him to experience the reality of what he had done as a young UNCLE agent to the women he had taken up with. If he had really been willing to admit it, that is.

He truly lost interest in his own company after all, only to get the wake-up call of his own when it was ready to fold due to his disinterest. He took a trip to Vegas to try to acquire enough capital to kick-start the company, only to be interrupted by Raleigh and UNCLE. How ironic, he would think as he remembered those days a few years ago. 

But rarely did he think about them without seeing Liz’s disapproving face, playing blackjack to stay in business.

_What had I done to earn her abandonment? Was it something like that?_

###

_I am sick to death of hospitals. A plague on all of them, and be done with it._

First it had been Papa, given to rages and accusations…then the lack of recognition, the loss of his ability to speak, function. Nika did not spend much time either forgiving or castigating herself for the lack of regret at his passing, the relief at his absence was too great for any other clear emotion. Mama had always worked hard to compensate for Papa – his lack of any true feeling, his coarse manner and simple cruelty towards she and her younger brother was as much of a given as his cold blue eyes (Sergiu had them, thank God she had inherited Mama’s eyes instead), staring staring staring at her at any given moment, as if he wanted to drill a hole right through her. 

Papa died insane. Perhaps he had always been so.

But why had God then decided Mama needed to die as well? Cancer, vicious and incurable, discovered shortly after Lexi was born, fought and wrestled to a standstill for the nine years he had been alive. Nika knew the inside of Memorial Sloan-Kettering better than her own home, she had spent so much of her life since Mama’s diagnosis there.

You didn’t fight cancer, Nika thought to herself bitterly. It ambushed you, stole everything precious from you and if you were fortunate, you captured the thief long enough to take some of it back for a while, before it stole from you again. Battling cancer – feh. As if it were an honorable opponent.

Sergiu was treading water well, but Nika knew he was only biding his time before Mama was gone. He pretended concern, but it was only a thin shell covering his avarice and greed, something Nika took for granted, even to the point of making sport of it to cheer Mama up.

Nika knew she had to watch out for Sergiu. He was her brother, but she was not foolish enough to forget how little value she held in his future plans. If anything, she was a barrier. _If he only knew._

Closing the file on her desk with hands that shook only a little, Nika put the finishing touches on the plan she and Mama had hatched in secret years ago, when Lexi was still only an infant cooing happily in the bed Mama had placed behind her desk. “I did much the same with the two of you,” she had said, “You were always with me, no matter what I was doing. Why should he be different?”

He was going to grow up without her, and had never known a time when that hadn’t been a reality looming on the horizon.

_Stop it, Nika. You’re being a fool._

Mama was at the hospital now, her time left measured in days if not hours. And while she tarried here in her office, completing the paperwork Legal had sent up for her to execute, Mama might be taking her last breath with only Sergiu – if he had deigned to visit today – at her side.

She needed to go. Lexi needed to be picked up from school, his homework checked and then his dinner prepared. But she needed to go to Mama, be with her as well.

_Nika, darling. He’ll only have you – and I am so sorry to put you through this, but I see no other way. You understand, yes?_

Why hadn’t she tried to contact his father? A lifetime of her parents never mentioning – in clear language – how little she looked like Papa, only some little asides of how she resembled her grandmother’s clan in Russia, some kind of fair-haired throwback in her Romany family tree. It had been a lovely fairy tale, and even the grade-school aged Nika had known it for the fable it was.

She’d loved Mama too much to call her a liar.

Sergiu had been the only child of her parent’s marriage, they had both known it and when Nika found herself pushed to the side in favor of her brother, she didn’t fight it but found her own way through, navigating the shadows thrown by the favored son of Stefan Sardelich. 

Nika almost couldn’t forgive Mama for the loss of Pasha, even if it had meant Lexi’s survival. The kind, soft-spoken professional who had taught her how to play poker during the first picnic they had known together, back in a field in Kansas where wheat had grown and had been recently cropped close. Tossing a blanket over it had helped only a little, but when one sat on it, the sharp stems poked through the fabric. Pasha had found cushions, who knew where, and they had eaten a lunch together while playing cards perched on top of them, the only picnickers comfortable enough to endure the experience.

Sergiu cheated. He always did, even when he was smart enough to win through honestly and had the luck to back it up – he always cheated.

Nika had bested Napoleon, or had he let her win? He had begun with her in the way he had intended to continue – as a friend. Poker had led to Blackjack, then to chess and backgammon – he had been full of games, willing to play them for hours with her, teaching her the strategies behind each one as he had divided his time between her and Mama, charming and entertaining to the last.

Mama took lovers. It was something Nika had known, and Sergiu had used to justify the sneers and disrespect he often visited on his mother. She had taken them, enjoyed them and then bid them farewell like seasons turning. Very rarely did Mama and Papa share space together, and every time it had been a very calculated, orchestrated act that rarely ended without one of them taking a piece out of the other before they retired to their own rooms.

Papa had tried to take lovers, Nika guessed. She suspected they had taken one look at Mama and went home, knowing they could only be used but never valued.

Mama had fallen pregnant the year Nika had turned 24, graduating from college with her Masters degree…and had forbidden her to invite Napoleon to her commencement ceremony. It had been one of the few times Nika recalled crying herself to sleep over a personal slight, and she had refused to attend but it had made little difference – none of her family would have come anyway.

Papa was spending all of his time in Bedlam. Mama had sequestered herself. Sergiu played at being the heir apparent to Sardelich Industries while she actually went into the office and kept the lights on.

She had welcomed Alexsandr into the world with as much joy as her heart could hold, seeing her Pasha in her youngest brother’s face, swearing to protect him from any and all who would harm him.

Just as they had with her, nobody – overtly – mentioned how Lexi’s bright brown eyes were different from anyone else’s in the family, his bright and happy personality unlike the rest of his broody, Romany relations. Lexi was as fey as spring breeze, caring little for his older brother’s bullying, closely attached to his sister Nika, but he adored Mama and only he was called ‘little treasure’ by her.

She had to go get him from school, check his homework and then go to the hospital. It might be tonight.

And then the day after, Nika would launch her mother’s scheme to secure the future for all three of them, the best way she could from the grave.

Sighing, Nika tried to forget how alone she felt at that moment. If it was horrible for her, Mama was losing her life before reaching fifty three.

Mama had said she was only being punished for her sins. Nika dallied with the idea of becoming an atheist, and had said as much to Mama on those days.

Go get Lexi from school.

Go to Mama.

Nika pushed herself away from the desk, and stood as tears pricked her eyes and made her vision swim. _Pasha._

Did she dare try to find him?

No. Mama would not approve.

###

Benjamin Kowalski, late of the NYPD, late of the public school system, late of Hell’s Kitchen where he had grown up, the native New Yorker and proud of it, thank ya very much, found himself in Solo and & Kuryakin’s office at UNCLE, cooling his heels and trying hard not to look incredibly embarrassed.

Standing in front of him was his partner, the diminutive Jody Patz, one of the few UNCLE legacies left from the years the agency had spent in mothballs. She counted Professor Hemingway as her grandfather – and Alexander Waverly as a great uncle, having entered UNCLE through the junior program as soon as she had been old enough. She had served largely as a researcher and analyst, however, never seeing the field. After THRUSH had brought Solo and Kuryakin out of retirement, and made it painfully obvious new agent teams were needed, John Raleigh had insisted Patz leave her libraries and Kowalski his gun ranges to form a new team of their own.

To his surprise, she hadn’t killed him yet – and made him look absolutely amazing. At the moment, though – he was glad she had decided to do all the talking. Reaching an arm around to cup the back of his head, rubbing it aimlessly as she fixed both of the older men with a pert but direct stare, the former beat cop wished he was anywhere else. Jody had gone snooping – it was what she was good at, after all. And instead of getting caught, she had brought her findings to Solo and Kuryakin before they had discovered them on their own.

She had chestnut hair, he noted aimlessly as he looked down at the top of her head. Golden highlights in russet hair, matched her eyes. The color of a good sherry. Oh, how he wished he were anywhere else.

“Mr. Solo, the technology we use here at UNCLE is built by your own company. You can’t be surprised that it works as advertised.” Standing with her hands clasped in front of her, acutely aware of the UNCLE special she wore holstered under her suit jacket, Jody met the direct stare of both Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin with as firm a resolve as she could muster. “Please. I truly believed you would rather hear it from a friend. And I am desperately sorry. Please believe me.”

“My call to enlarge the clip files,” Napoleon said quietly, eyes darting away as he turned to put his back to Patz. “She’s your student, Illya. I blame you for making her such a nosy Nancy.”

“A friend, you said?” Illya’s voice was louder, more strident but for all that, less angry. “I know the protocols, Patz. I know what is done with intelligence gathered by an UNCLE agent in the line of duty. But I also know _you_ – and that tender heart of yours is going to get you killed some day.”

Clearing his throat, Kowalski took a breath to begin speaking only to stop mid-inhale as Kuryakin turned his attention to him. “Or him, perhaps. He’d get in the way long enough to stop a bullet for you.”

“That’s unkind.” Jody’s posture and tone underlined the statement, disappointment but still no anger. “It would have taken days for the clipping service to catch up to me, you know that.” Taking a deep breath, she allowed her eyes to drop to her feet. “There is still a little time left, she’s at Sloan-Kettering. Please. Whatever you think of me, my methods or my partner – take it up with us later.

“Go to her.”

When Solo turned to look at them again, Benjamin Kowalski drew his partner against him with protective arms, unconsciously encircling and drawing her away as Solo swiftly left the room, followed by Kuryakin.

“Oh Christ on a cracker, Jody. If we’re lucky, we’ll only be scrubbing toilets for the rest of our lives.”

Small hands came up to grip his arms as she turned her head to watch them go. “No, I don’t think so. I told Raleigh.”

Rolling his eyes, Benjamin began to recite the names of his father, his father’s father and the apologies he would have to make to them in the afterlife he surely must be heading for. “Of course you did. Good girl, isn’t that what you are?”

She only sighed and leaned back. “More things in heaven and on earth, Benji. It’s so incredibly sad.” Patting his arm, she released it, stepping away. “We’d better get ready. All hell is about to break loose.”

“What do you mean – isn’t that just what happened?”

Pursing her lips, she frowned up at him as she cocked her head. “Are you really that thick? Liz Sardelich is dying, Benji. The sole proprietor of one of the biggest multi-national corporations dealing in electronics today! And nobody knows what she’s crafted as a going-away present – Benji, this is huge. _She’s taking the company public the day she dies._ She’s leaving it to none of her children, not one of them, none of the family – she’s essentially putting the company into the hands of a Board of Directors and the public at large. Can you imagine the fallout this is going to have?”

“I’m not one of those guys who reads the gossip rags, Jody. I’m a simple man – spell it out for me.”

“Liz has children, one of which has been expecting to take over since he discovered he had a Y chromosome – and he’s a nasty bit of business. He’d have been in jail a number of times over except for his father’s influence. Dirty business dealings, mixed with assaulting people who annoyed him. Sergiu Sardelich – name ring a bell?”

“Trust fund punk, oh yeah – that guy. Ran into him back in the day – but you’d know that one, wouldn’t ya? He has a sister, the nice one – wait a second.”

“She’ll get what he gets. Her life won’t be worth a plugged nickle until the IPO is finished. And did you get the latest update? There’s a third child nobody knew about it – little boy, nine years old. Guess who is going to be his legal guardian?”

“The sister. Plug ‘em both, take over the company, stop the IPO. That numbnut ambitious enough to try for that?”

Blowing air, she took her partner by the arm as she turned to leave the office. “Brother, ambitious isn’t what I’d call it. Come on – we need to go back Solo and Kuryakin up.”

“I’m right behind ya,” he said, the notion that the older scions of UNCLE actually needed his help settling like a lead weight in his stomach. “You sure about this?”

“I’d give it even money I thought of it first,” she answered, striding to keep up with his long legs. “But if Sergiu has a pattern, it’s greed and entitlement. The moment he finds out everything isn’t his, he’s isn’t going to stop until it is. I’d like to be wrong, of course – but.”

“You’ve been doing this too long.”

“Yup. I’ve been doing this too long.”

Stopping at the elevator, he looked down at his partner with a wry expression on his face. “I’ve toldya I’m glad you’re on our side, right?”

“Routinely,” she answered, but her face brightened at the compliment. “But you should be. Glad, that is.”

“You tell anyone else about this?”

“Besides the Federal Trade Commission? Ah, Benji. Nothing’s going to happen we can’t deal with. Or just pour into a bucket later.”

“No punk too big, too small or too difficult.”

“Don’t forget your gun.”

###

Lexi had finished the burger and fries purchased at the drive-thru near the hospital, asking meekly for a chocolate milkshake Nika could not deny him. Of course he had already done his homework, how could she have assumed he wouldn’t have?

“Nika, are you scared?”

Freckles marched across his nose, more obvious than ever as he paled walking into the ICU unit, stopping at the receptionist. The waiting room was nearly empty, visiting hours done some time ago. They made exceptions for those such as them, Nika knew. They didn’t have to obey the rules.

She only looked down at him with as firm a smile as she could manage, bending down to kiss him on the forehead. Then she turned to face the older woman seated behind the desk, giving her name and her mother’s, asking if anyone else was bedside with her.

She was told her brother was there now, Sergei was it?

“Sergiu. Thank you – “

It was such a tiny sound, kittens made more noise but when Lexi began to cry, the only thing Nika could do was bend down to hold him close, kneeling so that he could lay his head on her shoulder and sob. “I want Mama,” he managed to gasp out. 

“I know. Let’s go see if we can trade places with him, okay?”

There was only so much space in the room Mama was in. And frankly, Nika knew to stay out of striking range of Sergiu if Lexi did not.

She’d already found him in the room with contracts and a pen, hoping Mama would regain enough consciousness to sign something…heaven only knew what. Some days, she truly hated being the only adult in her generation.

“Want to go wash your face, _giuvaer_ mine?” His answer a very soggy nod, he turned and darted away into the restroom just down the hall. Sighing as she stood and dusted herself off, Nika tried to think through what the next few hours might bring.

Another tiny sound, something she would never really know how she had picked out of the other ambient noises of the hospital around her – a sharply indrawn breath, the sound of hard-soled shoes on the tile floor abruptly halting mid-step. Then the sound of her name, called once in shock then again in recognition as she turned to face the source of those tiny little sounds.

_“Pasha!”_ She barely had time enough to register the presence of the man before she was swept up, held close against a familiar shoulder that smelled of expensive after-shave, wind and _PashaPashaPasha._ “I’m sorry! Mama wouldn’t let me – “

“Shush now, it’s all right. My sweet girl. My sweet, sweet girl.”

“I need – to tell you – “

And then the sound of her Pasha taking a sobbing breath, and Nika came undone herself. Somehow, the world had gotten incredibly small and safe again, and if there were hot tears on her face, they were a blessing as they fell onto the shoulder of one of the few people Nika had ever trusted implicitly…and somehow, he was there. Just, suddenly there – and if she had even been a judge of his character, he was just as relieved to find her there as well.

“Napoleon…who is that, there?”

Pulling away, Nika realized they had not been alone. A strange man stood behind Pasha, blond hair the color of sunlight, eyes so blue they were painful to look at. But he wasn’t looking at her. Tracking his gaze, Nika pulled away from Pasha to look over her shoulder.

Lexi was standing in the hallway, his mouth hanging open at the sight of Pasha.

Just as Pasha’s was, looking at him.

###

He sat in one of the waiting room chairs, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees. Pasha still sat near her, the chairs drawn close together and Lexi had climbed into her chair with her, his chin resting on her shoulder, on his knees at her back.

But this man was the only one who faced her, looking at her like he was expecting her to explode or sprout wings and fly away. His eyes would meet hers for a moment, then look away as he attempted to find something to do with his hands, clasping them together and releasing them again and again. “I would like to know,” he began, the clear tones of a Russian accent threaded heavily through the words, “How you came to call my old friend here Pasha – and then you need to go see to your mother.”

It was a strange priority to have, but no matter. “Napoleon was something from a history book, a silly joke of a character who had nothing in common with him. When he was first introduced to us, Sergiu made fun of him, I couldn’t say his name without laughing,” she began, slowly as she looked to Pasha for support. He only nodded and indicated wordlessly she should continue. “Mama suggested he was as full of himself as a Sultan, a Pasha in his own world… _Napasha_ , she had said once, and I think she was teasing – but it stuck.”

“It is just a nonsense word, but it is very – endearing – when used to describe my old friend, here.” Swallowing hard, the other man still couldn’t consistently meet her eyes.

“Nika, dear. May I introduce you to Illya Kuryakin?” Pasha’s voice was low and quiet, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Illya Nikovetch Kuryakin, and yes – he’s as Russian as you think he is.”

“Illya Nik – “ The word froze in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, there it is,” the Russian said, jerking back in the chair to fold his arms across his chest. “I am doing here what I believe is called the right thing – which, once you know me a little better, might confuse you more than you are already. You do not know me, yet you should. I knew your mother…I knew your mother’s family, more to the point. The history is important –“ and with that, he waved a hand at her, “but at this moment, time is short. I have the right to see Elizaveta Petrea Sardelich, daughter of Petar Andrel Sardelich – as her next of kin. I am Petar’s son – by marriage.”

Trying to take the deep breath her lungs demanded as her world shrunk down into tunnel vision, only the weight of Lexi on her shoulder, and the firm grip Pasha still had on her hand grounded her. “That’s not possible.”

“It was never formalized by clergy, or codified with a document – but I would never have taken advantage of your mother. And you are no bastard. Go – go to her. Will you deny the evidence before your eyes? You have no time – go!”

“Pasha – Sergiu is in there right now – “

But the older man only blinked and smiled like a well-fed cat in the cream. “Oh, please chase that brother of yours out here, I implore you. Fear not, we’ll be fine.”

“Do you want – “

“Of course, but you have a mission to accomplish. Go on – “

Standing, taking Lexi by the hand, Nika met the eyes of both men and managed to keep her feet under her as she left the waiting room.

She had actually thought nothing would have changed the world more than losing her mother. That had been yesterday.

Whatever would tomorrow be like?

_Nikovetch._ Dear Gods. Mama had known. Papa had known.

“So many stories. So many lies.” Shaking her head, trying to clear it, Nika girded herself against what she knew was coming. The truth of all truths – her mother was mortal, and it was time to say goodbye.

###

The unit itself was quieter than she liked, underscoring the reality that most of the patients in it weren’t conscious and the nursing staff, highly trained, took no liberties in their care. Lexi’s hand had found hers, and they paused at the nurses’ station, looking into Mama’s space to see Sergiu seated bedside, just seated there with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, staring into her face.

Mama’s eyes were closed, her mouth obscured by the oxygen mask. She wasn’t awake or aware, and for that, Nika was grateful. Pain management had become almost impossible – light sedation gave her respite at this point.

She could afford to be patient and wait for her brother to notice them waiting their turn. Unfortunately, she was considerate of Sergiu and not some reasonable person. Somehow, he sensed them outside and simply turned to look at them with cold, ice blue eyes, staring as he insolently leaned back in the chair.

He made them wait outside, for no other useful reason than he could. Sergiu knew Nika would not confront him on the matter – who would deny a man his mother?

When he finally blew air and got to his feet, Nika ducked her head as he passed by her without saying a word, roughly shoving her into the counter. Missing Lexi, who stepped back at the last moment, Sergiu only tossed his head and strode out of the unit as his younger brother stuck out his tongue at his retreating back.

“Come on, Lexi.” Any other day, he probably would have slugged her. Right now, too many people were watching.

And it was now her turn to say good-bye.

###

“What one thing would you want Mama to remember most, Lexi? Think of it, put it into a few words that you can say once…that’s what I’m going to do.”

She barely remembered the hushed words Lexi whispered into Mama’s ear, the careful way he took her hand and placed a kiss into its palm before laying it back at her side. Not certain she wanted to send him out of the unit, Nika asked Lexi to wait for her at the nurses’ station and watched him go out of the bed space before she turned her attention fully back to her mother.

“Mama, when we meet again – there will be words we need to say to one another,” Nika began, gently taking the one hand not encumbered by monitors and IV lines between her own. They had said she would be able to hear her, feel her touch, even if she didn’t appear aware of it. “But this I can say now. You were a good mother. I could not have asked for a better one. I will do what we planned, I swear it – and thank you for giving me my future without Sergiu. Thank you for my freedom.

Bending over, she laid a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for my life.”

Outside in the waiting room, Napoleon noted the passing of Sergiu Sardelich much as Sergiu had noted him – complete indifference, not even looking at him beyond noting he was there as he strode past out of sight. Perhaps Sergiu had huffed a breath in irritation, he wasn’t certain – or cared, frankly. Watching Illya’s eyes widen, his posture straightening into ramrod alertness, hands clenching into fists as he half rose to his feet, Napoleon mirrored his partner, laying a hand on one arm. “Steady, tiger. He’s not worth it. Believe me.”

It was proof that Stefan had stolen his life away, vibrantly alive and walking away from him – the reality was like being dropped into a vat of ice water. The spy in him kept whispering at him to let it go, not to allow it to affect him, move him or keep him from his mission. It was a good voice, it had kept him alive and sane for many years. Thankfully, it was more rational than the upwelling rage Illya knew would have to find release soon, or pay the consequences. Walking away was one of Elizaveta’s children – beyond that door to the ICU unit were two others, and only a fool would deny the older one was his.

Taken, or hidden from him. Perhaps both.

“It’s not worth it, Illya.” Turning to look into Napoleon’s deep brown eyes, Illya found his old partner’s concern strangely out of character, but welcome nonetheless.

Well, time to get on with it. Could be worse, he thought wryly. He could be sharing a past with Kowalski instead, perish the thought.

“No. No, Napoleon – he’s not. It’s not. What is worth something now, eh? What is this to us, eh? What – “

Illya could remember a time when punching Napoleon in the face had come easier than speaking to him. He remembered that even as Napoleon pulled him into a hug, close and tight, soundly thumping him on the back, then shaking him off to hold him at arm’s length by the shoulders, looking at him again with his eyes staring holes through him.

“I am grateful we did not show up in her life at the same time, Illya,” Napoleon said shakily. “You might have had a battle on your hands if we had.”

“You believe this.”

“I do.”

“You knew my – “

“I knew Liz’s daughter, growing up. Illya, she had my son and never told me. Years ago now, she had my – “

“Why – “

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t either. I don’t understand.”

Looking around at the now deserted waiting room, not even a pot of coffee sitting on a burner anymore, Illya threw up his hands and gave an inarticulate shout as Napoleon took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back. “That help, pal?”

“Some.”

“It gets worse from here, you know.”

“How – “

“We’ve become parents. It always gets worse from there.”

###

Napoleon knew he would remember being angry at Liz for leaving things this way – lying in a hospital bed, unaware of him. Tiny, so thin and aged he hardly recognized her. The fierce black hair was gone, replaced with a crown of wispy gray strands, her porcelain skin gone sallow and bruised. Her eyes did not open, which could have been a blessing. If her beautiful violet eyes had gone the same route as the rest of her, he wasn’t sure he could bear it.

Someone had taken the woman he’d loved, challenged, created miracles with and replaced her with a sack of bones thinly covered with skin and smelling of decay as he stood there.

He couldn’t find words to speak aloud, so he simply stood there at bedside in silence.

_I would have done anything for you. Said the words, it was yours for the taking._

Now this is where I leave you, Liz. 

Until we meet again. If we meet again. If it’s in hell, well then I’m sure you’ll know the best places to go, as always. Good bye, Liz. This time, it’s said and not implied. Good bye.

Good bye, good bye, good bye.

###

Napoleon emerged from the unit to discover the little group had grown by two; Kowalski and Patz had arrived with fresh coffee and donuts that Lexi had accepted eagerly (the coffee, Nika vetoed on his behalf), wary glances at the doorways and fresh perspectives he’d try not to fall over his feet in gratitude for.

“Mistah S, Mistah K – good evening to ya. Thought you might like some company, maybe an escort home tonight?” Kowalski hadn’t been careful enough with his jacket – seated next to Nika, it had fallen open to reveal the gun in its holster beneath and only Napoleon would have noticed the fearful looks Nika kept giving it at the same time she was gamely trying to be poised and gracious to him.

“Hey, pal. Good call.” He took the coffee, and then the donut as he sat down next to Nika on the other side. “You’ve met some of my friends, hmm Nika? Where are my manners.”

Illya quietly slipped away as Napoleon directed Nika and Lexi’s attention to the younger UNCLE agents, the door into the unit closing silently behind him.

Hearing her breathing before Illya saw her and having heard the sound too many times before, knew it for what it was. Did he think about getting her children to stand around her bed and watch her take her last breath? 

No.

There was a nurse, he remained marginally aware of her as she stood across the bed from him, her manner as matter of fact as walking to the sink to wash her hands as she watched the monitors.

_Could it be – it is. It is, cruel beyond words. Why. This is not right._

I am here. 

Ignoring everything, Illya bent over the wasted figure of the girl he’d sworn his life to, decades and lifetimes ago, gathering it into his arms like one would hold a bird – lightly, gently and briefly, laying her back onto the bed, arranging her hands together on her chest as he tried to overlay the memory of her on this remnant of life, barely human anymore.

_I am here._

“Elizaveta, go on. Please.”

The nurse would tell her family when she went home that night about the strange man who had come to see her celebrity patient, staying with her as she passed, speaking and singing to her quietly in languages that hissed and clicked and curled in his throat. 

And when it was done, thanked her – and then left, without looking back.

She had watched the door to the waiting room close behind him, the shadows of the people outside showing up as shadows on the frosted glass in its window.

The daughter wailed, the young son joining in but as clear and sharp as those sounds had been, they had been as swiftly muffled as the other shadows closed on them.

She called the doctor to witness and verify that Elizaveta Sardelich had passed away, called the case worker on call, the night shift supervisor.

They would have the job of going out there with the family, making sure they were safe to travel home, assisting them with final arrangements. For her, this night? Her job was done, her patient now where nothing worse would ever happen to her, at peace.

Washing her hands, she went to see if anyone else needed help until her shift was over, saying a quiet prayer to the powers that be to look out for them. And then, her job was truly done.

###

“No, you are not going home tonight. No way.” Jody Patz stood in the one doorway leading out of the waiting room of the ICU unit, as if to bar the way until she had convinced Nika Sardelich otherwise. “Please, surely you thought of that. Tell me you had other plans hidden away. You’re not going home tonight, not where you can be found wrapped up in a big red bow saying ‘oh shoot me now, here I am waiting for you!’ You’re not that foolish.”

“It’s not me,” the other woman answered, looking up from where she was seated between Napoleon and Lexi on the one couch the room held. “I thought – hoped…for my brother’s sake. I didn’t want to disrupt him anymore than necessary. You understand?”

Softening just enough to make Kowalski raise his eyebrows from where he sat across from the trio, Jody sighed and spread her hands. “Of course, yes. But please, take Mr. Solo’s offer and spend at least tonight at his place – I know the defenses there, and if we can’t keep you safe there then there isn’t a place in this world that would be. You’ve been there, right?”

“It’s been some time,” she temporalized, looking at Napoleon as she hugged herself. “Pasha, it’s an incredibly generous offer, but are you sure it’s alright? There are resources I could call - ”

“Nonsense, it’s fine,” Napoleon answered, listening to his voice change into a purr as the desire to convince Nika fed into it. “Forget about your resources, they’re compromised. She’s right – not even UNCLE HQ would be as secure under the circumstances.”

That got a confused, wry look from Nika. “What is this UNCLE you speak of? I think – it would explain much if you could explain that, Pasha.”

“I was not always a businessman who designed electronics – you knew that, right? Remember?” Napoleon cut a look with Illya, who sat near Kowalski, only his eyes moving as he looked over steepled fingers as the conversation shifted.

“You said you were in the service. I always assumed that meant the military, the American military.”

“I never said where I served,” Napoleon said, his voice growing quieter. “And I never said I was in the service of the American government alone, either. It’s a bit grandiose, but you would be more accurate to say I’ve been in service to the whole world, not just one country.”

“The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement,” Kowalski piped up, nodding his head. “Reports directly to the Security Council at the United Nations, but unless you’ve dealt with it directly – you just don’t know about it.”

Opening her mouth once to speak, Nika closed it again as her eyes narrowed, looking at the four other adults looking back at her expectantly. Lexi nudged her in the side, smiling up at her when she looked down at him. “And you, Mr. Kuryakin?” she asked, looking him in the eye. “Are you also part of this shadow nation?”

“I wouldn’t call us a nation,” he answered, shifting forward to rest elbows on his knees. “We are spies, Veronika. We are agents of this multinational organization, apart from the government of any country.”

“Above the law.”

“Above, below and inbetween. It matters not, we are only the agents doing what we have been told to by our betters.” Waving it away with one hand, he briefly closed his eyes before meeting Nika’s again. “It is where I met Napoleon, worked with him until we were both separated from the service a bit over fifteen years ago – the years you have known him.”

“We’ve recently been called back, you see.” Napoleon added. “Fortuitous, under the circumstances.”

“I daresay,” Nika replied, her head spinning. “All of you work for this – UNCLE.”

“We do,” Napoleon answered, the others nodding. 

“He’s our boss, strictly speaking,” Patz added. “There’s only one person higher in the organization in this region. Honey, you won’t be in better hands – believe me.”

Blinking, Nika dropped her eyes. “Pasha always protected me. I’m not surprised. And you, Mr. Kuryakin? You were also separated for a time?”

“A matter of honor,” he replied stiffly. “Napoleon was already gone, and someone was killed – but this is not the time or the place to explain that, only to say it was a needless, senseless death and I could not continue after it.”

“When I needed him, all I had to do was ask and he came back Nika. If there is only one person higher ranked than I at UNCLE, there are only two higher ranked than my friend Illya.” Napoleon took Nika’s hand, drawing her attention back to him. “He’s a good man, Nika. You might be surprised who he really is, come to think of it.”

Huffing a breath, she cocked her head at him. “He’s just told me he’s a spy for an agency nobody’s ever heard of. And he seems quite convinced that is who he is – “

“But while I was in the business of building computer systems…what do you suppose he was doing, hmm?”

Looking at Napoleon, then to Patz and Kowalski before turning her attention to the brooding face of Illya Kuryakin, Nika examined his face minutely before closing her eyes. “I can’t say. He might have been training attack dogs and mercenaries, for all I know.”

Kowalski’s cut-off guffaw, Patz’s mirthful face as she covered her mouth with one hand, not to mention Napoleon’s wide smile as Illya’s face reddened, dropping his eyes as a smile twisted his lips was enough to convince Nika she had hit way off the mark.

“Nika, darling,” Napoleon said quietly. “May I reintroduce my friend Illya Kuryakin, hmm? Come on, you know the name – or you would, on any normal day I think.”

Turning her face toward Illya with a gentle finger under her chin, Napoleon gestured towards the Russian with a wave of his other hand. “This is the founder and chief designer for Vanya’s, my dear girl. Illya Kuryakin. Illya, my friend Nika – “

“You’re the _fashion designer?!_ ” Blurting out the first thing that came to mind, Nika watched as the Russian actually flushed in embarrassment, ducking his head and smiling. She knew Vanya’s, she had worn their clothes to special occasions for years, they had been her mother’s favorite. _This_ man was Vanya’s?

“Cool!” Silent throughout the conversation, Lexi piped up with a fist pump and laughter. “Aw, cool! Come on Nika, let’s go – he’s okay. And he’s funny – “ gesturing towards Kowalski, “and Sergiu isn’t going to like her at all.” Patz nodded her head and grinned.

“And me, sport?” Napoleon tipped his head to look around Nika at Lexi.

“You, I got questions about.”

“I got answers. Let’s get out of here.”

Still staring at Illya, Nika temporalized as best she could. “For now, I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Of course. Do you still like hot chocolate before bedtime?”

“Do you still put brandy in it?” she answered, looking towards Napoleon hopefully.

###

Whatever had possessed Amy Ravenwood to purchase a three bedroom apartment overlooking Central Park, Napoleon never knew. When a small child, he remembered the place being like a museum or an art gallery – sterile, never lived in and spotlessly maintained by a housekeeping staff he hadn’t had the heart to discharge when he had taken over the property on her death.

He’d had their backgrounds checked and rechecked, to be sure. Amy had been no fool, and easily as paranoid as himself. Daughter of an admiral and an ambassador and all, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Nika was over thirty, he’d realized as they had settled into the guest room. Old enough to be Lexi’s mother in truth, should anyone ask. The girl he had taken to her senior prom, the college student he had lost touch with – were ten years in the past. This woman had been Liz’s right hand for nearly all those years, even as she looked and sounded like the well-behaved prep school girl he’d known.

Lexi had insisted on keeping her close and when she had fallen asleep on top of the covers, Napoleon hadn’t had the heart to wake her.

Stepping into the office, cum data center he kept in his home, Napoleon found Jody and Illya fast at work paging through multiple screens of data, the green CRTs scrolling as fast as they could read. Benjamin Kowalski sat nearby, a cup of coffee at his elbow as he idly field-stripped his gun to clean it.

“What have we got, troops?”

Looking up from her screen briefly, Jody flashed him a feral grin before returning to her scan. “I am going to be grateful, I am certain, more and more that the poor woman died on a Friday night. Everything is closed, the banks aren’t open to be drained of their funds and nothing can happen of a legal nature until Monday. Unless you’re me, of course.”

“Or I,” Illya chimed in. “Between the two of us, all of the assets belonging to Sardelich Industries are now frozen. As they will be in truth on Monday, when the IPO process begins but why take chances. It reduces both Nika and Sergiu to their own personal resources, maybe one company credit card that they will be responsible for after the conversion – but we can already see that provisions were already made for that eventuality. Napoleon, you will find this interesting – come take a look.”

Shivering a bit in the chill of the office – it was kept climate controlled due to the two 19” racks holding the mainframe in the corner – Napoleon crossed to stand behind Illya at his desk. Looking at the screen, he was at first puzzled, then whistled in amazement. “She took all the patents for the projects she and I did together and put them in Lexi’s name. He’ll retain all the royalties from them for life. Nice.”

“His name is Alexsandr, Napoleon. Care to explain that?”

Chuckling, he blinked. “I always spoke rather highly of my Uncle Waverly. She named him after the old man, Illya. I’m rather pleased. As she named her daughter after you, very carefully hidden and disguised. Liz was like that. When I knew her, of course.”

“Of course,” Illya replied, a quick nod of his head acknowledging the information. “Patz, what is the net saying? 

Seated at the small secretary’s desk in the corner, Jody peered into the green screen as she read the pages as fast as she could scroll through them. “The bulletin boards are already buzzing, I can hardly wait to see what happens when the news gets passed along in the next packet transfers. Three dead pool contests – won, sick effs, jeebus. But – yup, there it is. Sergiu’s already been there – and yup, somebody’s taken him up on doing a hit on Nika.”

“How can you be so sure? How do you know it’s him?” Napoleon knew enough about Sergiu to expect foul play, but finding a hitman on a computer bulletin board? It sounded implausible – but Patz looked anything but uncertain about it.

“I’ve had an eye on him for a while. He’s an old favorite of Benji’s, after all.”

“Lazy, good for nothin’, troublemaking rich kid. Got me busted down a rank once, I don’t forget that – “ Finishing the reassembly of his weapon, loading the magazine and setting the safety before reholstering it, Kowalski looked up at Napoleon with a less than amused look in his eyes. “And now he’s keeping me up nights. Welp, he thinks he can find a hit without anyone noticing now, does he?”

“Oh, this is about the third I’ve uncovered. I’m going to enjoy making the racketeering case out of this stuff.” Pressing some keys, the greenbar printer near the racks whirred to life and began printing. “I’m also sending a copy of all this to HQ, and your buddy over at the precinct, Benji. Sound good?”

“Sounds good ta me. We got enough to bust him?”

“Strictly speaking, he actually has to _do_ something first,” Illya drawled. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? He’s finding ways to do away with one or both of his siblings without actually getting his hands dirty.”

“Found ways,” Jody interrupted, waggling a finger at Illya over her CRT. “Found, paid for and scheduled, I might add.”

“Seriously.”

“Yup.”

“You can prove it.”

“Only thing we have to do it step outside into the park, and the first one is waiting near the boy’s elementary school Monday morning. I swear, I might wish he was subtle but he’s making it too damn easy this way. What do we do, boss?”

“Well, we could leave him to his consequences when it’s discovered he can’t pay for services rendered, but that seems a little much,” Napoleon enjoyed Jody’s sense of humor – it could be as black as his own, given the right motivation. Looking up over his own CRT, Illya actually looked a little worried as he logged off. “Set ‘em up, shut ‘em down and bring ‘em in. Those are the ones you know of.”

“There will be more,” Illya said quietly.

“Count on it.”

###

They provided Nika with a phone the next morning, equipped with a scrambler that would send any trace to Timbuktu. Accepting it gratefully, she sat at Napoleon’s desk in his office, took out a small address book and began making phone calls, shooing all of them out of the office with a pointed glare. Kowalski and Patz had left in the wee hours to return to HQ, get sleep and do recon – they would be back in the early afternoon to relieve he and Illya, bring changes of clothing and more for Lexi to occupy himself than the contents of his school backpack.

In the meantime, Napoleon offered to teach Lexi how to play Yahtzee. 

When she emerged a few hours later, she looked worn but satisfied. “Mama made her plans well. The IPO is Wednesday.”

“Impressive. When is her funeral?” It had almost been an idle question, but Illya didn’t look away when Nika met his eyes, the eyebrows narrowing.

“She was buried last night. There will be a memorial, but no funeral. Mama’s wishes. It’s already done.” Her back stiffened as Illya’s face darkened to match her own, but she didn’t look away. “No, there is no question of asking permission for anything or notifying anyone. This is my mother. Mama didn’t ask permission when she could simply do a thing and apologize later…or simply take the consequences. Mama took consequences very well, you see.”

“Or she learned how to,” Illya replied. “I begin to see now. My apologies if I overstepped myself.”

Smiling, Napoleon watched the apology empty the wind out of Nika’s sails, knowing she had been ready to defend decisions made by her mother, easily as honorable in her intentions as Illya was in his. “I’m fairly certain most people would be nonplussed – and will be, I’m sure – by the terms of Liz’s departure from this world. With Nika’s help, she’ll get everything her way…one more time.”

“It would help if we knew a bit more in advance, you know.” The kindness in Illya’s voice made Nika duck her head, biting her lower lip. “It’s strange to trust, I know. We understand.”

Full of pancakes made from a mix one just added water to that Napoleon had found in his cupboard, unopened and slathered with the homemade strawberry jam given as a holiday gift, Lexi was happily playing five hands of Yahtzee by himself, then stacking the dice like building blocks and knocking them over.

“Do you want DNA tests?” Nika asked quietly, seating herself at the dining room table next to Napoleon.

“What would it matter?” It was the same kind voice, but Illya rose to stand at the window with his back to her. “We are complete strangers. If it were determined we share DNA, then we would have only that link to each other. Would we have reason enough then?”

“You look like me.” It was a simple statement, but Napoleon heard the yearning in it. “In all my life, nobody I knew looked like me. And we’re not strangers – you’ve claimed me.”

“True. Perhaps I have been too hasty.” Folding his hands behind him, Illya rocked back on his heels as he turned his head over one shoulder. “There is more, you know. I also knew your grandfather, did your mother ever mention him? It is his name you carry, Sardelich. The man your mother married – Stefan. His name was Gulea. Your grandfather’s name was Petar and he had no other children, and your grandmother had died before I met your mother. They never mentioned her name, I’m sorry.”

“What –“ Clearing her throat, Nika tried again. “You don’t speak about yourself, Mr. Kuryakin. You carry the memory for people who are no longer alive, and for that I am grateful but – you are _here_. And real. I would ask – what do you see when you look at me?”

“Why do you ask? I could turn my head, leave the room, not look back and your world would be no different than it was a few days ago – less complicated, even. Why?”

Napoleon found himself unwilling to take a deep breath, mentally kicking himself that he hadn’t seen it sooner. Of course he had been fond of Nika – that same stubborn honesty, loyalty and honor. And how she minimized herself in favor of others, it was the same as Illya was doing right in front of him. 

“You are my Pasha’s friend…his best friend, don’t deny it. And you both loved my mother. The proof is in our very existence.” Looking over to where Lexi was still happily mining the Yahtzee game for spare parts, Nika smiled softly. “What do you see when you look at me, Mr. Kuryakin. Do you see something familiar? Anything at all?”

Illya then turned to face them at that last, staring down at Nika who didn’t look back at either he or Napoleon, but rested her chin on one fist, watching her brother play in the next room, oblivious to the three of them in the other. Remembering how seldom Illya had ever spoken of his life before UNCLE, and how few people had ever really known what Illya had done with his spare time outside his service to the organization, Napoleon watched Illya set his jaw, both hands balled into fists as he faced probably the one person alive who shared a genetic history with him. Nika, for her part, breathed very shallowly, the only tell that she was anticipating something terrible but trying hard not to show it.

“My mother died when I was younger than him,” Illya said in a voice so cold Napoleon knew it was coming from someplace other than his friend’s present time. “She survived the famine, the war…long enough to give birth to me, lived long enough for me to know her face, and then died. Of what, I never knew and my father didn’t care. He climbed inside a bottle and that was the last time I had parents.

“You are her very image, except for that crooked left eyebrow. That, your grandfather had. Satisfied?”

Nika took a deep breath and closed her eyes as if in pain, releasing it slowly. “I’m so sorry.” Standing, she went to him without looking up and took first one fist and then the other, gently undoing the fingers as Napoleon watched in amazement. “I am so, so sorry. That had to be horrible.” Holding the hands in her own, Nika stepped forward, pulling Illya’s hands behind her as she released them, resting her forehead on his chest but holding her hands away from his body. “Can we at least grieve together, you and I?”

“Perhaps.” His voice was rough, but Illya didn’t move away, resting hands on her shoulders. “Napoleon showed me pictures of you wearing my clothes. I dressed you, without even knowing you existed.”

“Mama’s buried in them,” she said bluntly. “Her favorite black suit, wool – last year’s collection.”

A minute chuckle escaped Illya then. “Is that so.”

“I find it hard to believe she didn’t know, Illya, “Napoleon added sadly. “She was so excited about your work, as I recall. But she never mentioned you by name – so of course, I never made the connection. I was a tad oblivious then, I admit it. Very Liz of her – she wasn’t the girl you married anymore, so she didn’t intrude on the life you had made for yourself.”

“I gave up looking for her the moment she disappeared. I had no chance of finding her again, there was no trail, no leads. Not even a way to follow them, it was clear he had help getting away – I would have found them if they had left on foot.” As he spoke, Illya drew Nika closer until she wound arms around Illya, resting one cheek on his shoulder, eyes open and looking back at Napoleon. “I am so sorry, familiar little stranger of mine here. We may be related by blood, but I am not your father. I do not know what we can be to each other, but I don’t know how to become your parent. I’m sorry.”

“I could use a good friend,” she said quietly. “An ally. Couldn’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then let us be acquainted, and let us be familiar enough to know one another.” Stepping back, she looked up at Illya, met his gaze and looked hopeful. “We have Pasha and Lexi to consider, after all.”

“Yes, the children do need supervision, don’t they?”

Stung, Napoleon objected but the two of them only looked back at him fondly. “Great, “ he muttered to himself. “Now I have two of them to contend with. I am going to reconfigure the television remote to interfere with any listening devices we might have missed last night coming in – so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

It would be years, but Napoleon would remember the first time he saw the same smile on both their faces – and it would be as he left the dining room that morning to void the warranty on his television set.

###

Monday came, went and nothing happened except Nika spent most of it on the phone. Lexi followed Napoleon around his apartment, handing him tools and looking over his shoulder as he worked in his office. “What are you doing now?”

“Preparing to commit mayhem in the service of your mother.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

“Certainly. Get me the pliers.”

Tuesday came, and Lexi began to ask about outside. As in, when would they be able to go there again and didn’t it look wonderful? The questions lasted until Nika’s phone – the one rerouted from her home office through the scrambler to Napoleon’s device on the desk in his office – began ringing in earnest.

It had been something of a modest home, before an extermination company had tented it for termites…and the pilot light on the gas furnace hadn’t been turned off. There was little left larger than toothpicks, Nika’s home entirely blown to bits “by accident.”

Lexi’s school had been evacuated and closed when a number of strange packages had been found in the landscaping, thankfully before any of them had detonated. Since it had been the third time Patz had suspected a tampering at the school, it hadn’t gotten the same attention – but third time was the charm, and there they were. Any one of them large enough to blow the building sky high.

Sergiu hadn’t been to the company offices or seen since he had crossed paths with Nika at the hospital the night their mother had died – she placed a missing person’s report with the NYPD by phone, looking Illya in the eye the entire time she did so.

When Kowalski and Patz returned that evening, it was with grim, tight lipped faces and Jody apologized, deeply shocked and at much at a loss as Napoleon had ever seen her.

But they had caught and defused more than a dozen attempts as it was.

“There still is no indication they know we’re here?” Nika’s concern was for more than their safety, she’d said as much every day. They had now destroyed her home – what was stopping them from targeting Napoleon?

“What makes you think they know I’m here, princess? Let alone you?” Answering those questions was one of the small pleasures he had at that point. “A Robert Smith lives here, according to all public records. And you know I would never allow surveillance cameras to show anyone anything I didn’t want them to see, right? Never mind all of the dear _Uncles_ I have keeping an eye on things outside.”

“What I’m concerned about is how this is all going to end,” Illya added. “We can wait for them to make a mistake and actually kill somebody…or we can try to bring this to an end ourselves, once and for all and be done with it.”

“I like that plan. I am in favor of that plan.” Standing in the middle of the living room, Nika looked back at the UNCLE agents, arms crossed. Lexi, folding cranes out of newspaper squares, only looked up and yawned.

“And then can we go outside again? Please? I am so BORED!”

###  
The decision was for Nika to address the Board of Directors, televising the IPO and formally turning in her resignation as Elizaveta Sardelich’s successor. She drafted a brief address, practiced it during the day Wednesday while Lexi caught up on his schoolwork.

Jody Patz had gone to school with one of his teachers it turned out, discovering the fact when she had gone to fetch his homework. As well as visit a few toy stores – after finding the imprint of his sneakers on some of the walls above her waist, the chess figures redressed in clothing fashioned from paper towels and the floor was littered with paper airplanes, origami animals and bits of wire. She was absently grateful, albeit surprised that Lexi had not been more strident about his desire to get outside but considered the source.

Alexsandr Sardelich had been his mother’s treasure, but also her best kept secret. Finding him with his head next to Napoleon’s over some blueprints, she wasn’t surprised as she heard one of them finish the other’s sentences, an easy camaraderie already existing between them. They shared the same gregarious streak, finding nothing wrong with making friends with everyone in the room. 

Nika slept, holding the 3 x 5 cards her speech was written on in her hands.

Illya was with Benji, back at HQ trying to locate Sergiu – which was what she was going to do herself, once she divested herself of her packages.

“Sir?” Looking up, Napoleon smiled back at her with tired eyes but a content expression.

“Ms. Patz. What have you brought us tonight, hmm?”

Stacking the books and paperwork on her little secretary’s desk, she put the bags from the toy store on the floor next to it. “Nothing for you this time, I’m afraid. It’s all Lexi-time, here. Mrs. Diaz sends her best, punkin. She even sent some extra credit for – “

She didn’t even get to finish her statement before he’d jumped up and raced over to see, tearing through the worksheets and textbooks with unmitigated glee. Nonplussed, Jody laughed nervously but stepped back. “Well, then. Were _you_ ever like this, Sir?”

“No,” Napoleon answered firmly. “My interests and talent lay in the art of _not_ doing schoolwork, as you might expect from any normal boy.”

Lexi only looked up and stuck his tongue out at them. “Finally! Something fun to do!”

When Illya returned late that night, bringing Nika a change of clothes from Vanya’s, he found only Napoleon still awake, sitting at the foot of the bed Lexi and Nika still shared, back against the wall. Jody had laid down on the other one, ostensibly to just cat nap but had quickly dissembled into deep slumber, snoring softly.

“Aw, ain’t she cute?” Kowalski threw a blanket over her before moving back out into the living room.

Illya had only offered Napoleon a hand up as they followed him out in silence.

“Tomorrow’s the big day, eh?” Sprawling on the couch, throwing his feet up onto the coffee table, the younger agent tossed his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Damn, I could almost name every crack in that ceiling, but it’s worth it. All that punk has to do is show up and we got him.”

“Pity about her house, but she seems rather dispassionate about it,” Illya mused, seating himself in the club chair facing the windows.

“Don’t let that fool you. She planned that.” Napoleon set the coffeemaker to make a fresh pot of coffee before coming back into the living room. “As I recall, she said to Ms. Patz and myself this afternoon – ‘my brother has broken, stolen or ruined anything I ever treasured, from toys to relationships. I’m not foolish enough to leave anything where he could get at it now. It’s no surprise to me – and frankly, that house did have termites. I can now rebuild it the way I want to. I should thank him. Perhaps I shall.’ I always thought she was terribly self-contained. She’s very deep water these days, my friends. If she turns her head after these affairs are settled and leaves town, I don’t know if I want to follow her out.”

“She won’t leave you a trail unless she wants you to, old friend. You have to know that.” Illya sat, and propped up his head on the fingers of one hand, stretching out in the other club chair.

“She’s been a model houseguest. I may truly miss her once this is all over.”

“Twelve more hours, give or take a little. Jody says everything is in place, ready to spring on the prick and lock him up. Said even the NYPD want a piece of him, which is just fine with me – “ Yawning, Kowalski closed his eyes. “It would be nice if they could just pick him up now and save us the trouble.”

“Ah, and spoil the theater?” Illya’s voice became conspiratorial, almost mischievous. “Multinational corporations, family drama and fortunes at stake – “

“All a buncha cat and mouse, I break your stuff and you break mine. Just bigger. That guy has got to be beside himself knowing he can’t get to her.”

“Truly don’t care,” Illya answered.

“Not my problem.” Napoleon added.

“And soon, not even something we need to worry about. Think the coffee’s ready? I got the watch, Mister Misters – you need your beauty sleep. Get outta here.”

Nika woke about three in the morning, padding out into the living room to find Kowalski playing solitaire and drinking black coffee. She hadn’t said a word, but took the cards away from him, shuffled and dealt them both a hand of poker, a Mona Lisa smile on her face.

After he had been thoroughly skunked, he went to find the cough drops from the medicine cabinet to use in lieu of poker chips and began again. He liked the wild cherry ones, which was good because he knew he’d be eating most of them.

He let her talk him into taking her to a Barry Manilow concert someday, he talked her into learning how to shoot. She thanked him for being so patient. He thanked her for letting him win a few hands.

Neither of them wanted to admit they were going to miss the other after they parted ways tomorrow. Perhaps it was just tradition, after all.

###

The suit was made out of black China silk, thick nubby fabric with a crisp hand, a black lace camisole peeking out from deep neckline, the skirt a modified A-line hobble skirt with deep kick pleats in the back made out of the same material. Black silk stockings, simple black pumps with lace gloves and a matching leather clutch bag completed the outfit. 

Nika had only hugged the clothes to herself when Illya had presented them to her as a gift. “I want you to feel protected, as if this was your own suit of armor. I am here, as are we all.”

“Thank you,” she had managed. “It’s beautiful.”

“I think a hat, with a veil,” Patz had added, cocking her head. “Sunglasses, maybe a string of black – I know just the thing. And it’s perfect for the occasion!” Snapping her fingers, she trotted over to the hardcase she’d brought in a day or so ago – the one with the rifle on one side, ready to assemble but on the other was an assortment of female accessories, neatly tucked into compartments fitted to them. Lipstick, a nail file, rattail comb – and a string of black cloisonné beads. “Tracking device and transmitter, remotely activated. Completely inert unless I turn it on, just so.”

Holding a remote in one hand, she handed the necklace to Nika with the other. 

“They’re lovely…heavy!” Examining them with clear delight, Illya found Napoleon watching him and smiled when he met his eyes. _She likes pretty things, does she? Well, maybe she comes by that honestly after all._

“Time for your war paint, honey,” Patz crowed, shooing Nika back into the guest room. “Make up first, clothes last.”

“I didn’t know you did hair and makeup. Is that something they taught you back in agent school?”

“I learned that in the high school drama department – my parents wouldn’t let me wear makeup, I had to learn all over again when I left home. I’m not bad.”

Illya had also brought clothes for Lexi, which made his eyes widen when he saw them. He’d made a suit much like them for Napoleon some time ago – soft brown wool, lined with the brightest red silk satin he could find, three piece, European style. When Napoleon came back dressed into the living room, he found Lexi dressed nearly identically with Illya standing nearby, almost sheepish.

“It’s a good look,” Napoleon had said. “Thank you, Illya.”

Both Patz and Kowalski kept to their working clothes, UNCLE specials in their holsters under the simple black jackets, white shirts, black neckwear and trousers (or skirt in Jody’s case) completing their ensembles. Sir John Raleigh contacted them via Channel D, wishing them good hunting before the party left Napoleon’s home for Sardelich Industries’ offices.

It wasn’t lost on any of them when Nika paused on the street to turn her face to the morning sun, taking a deep breath of the moist air before getting into the car UNCLE had brought around to take them downtown.

“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Settling into the bench seat next to Napoleon, Nika allowed him to throw an arm around her shoulders, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wonder how long it is going to take my housekeeper to find all the origami cranes,” he purred.

“Forever!” Lexi had crowed. “There’s one stuck in the chandelier in the dining room, don’t tell her.”

“Just one? I’m disappointed, Lexi. Truly.”

“Nah, I’m just joshing ya,” he said, bright brown eyes dancing. “Don’t use the oven without looking first, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And then, they were there.

###

When Jody wrote up her report that afternoon, she mentioned her disappointment that it hadn’t been more difficult to place Sergiu under arrest, let alone capture him while attempting to murder both his older sister, and younger brother once he had discovered they both still lived, breathing room air with him as Nika finished handing over the reins of the company to an august personage his mother had chosen to head the Board of Directors.

She had tried to find either of his siblings in his appearance, failing as he first blanched then flushed a bright red, ice blue eyes glittering as he had charged the podium, enraged.

“Did you think I was still living in that Barbie Dream House you destroyed, Sergiu? Pity you never got any smarter than that,” his older sister had spat at him once he’d been restrained. “If you care to remember anything from this day, remember this: you will never be able to hurt me again. What you get today, is yours. Go in peace…but go, while I remember you are also my mother’s child.”

The media had a field day.

Knowing Benji was locking down the layers of law enforcement surrounding Sergiu Sardelich, from his old colleagues on the NYPD, the FBI (they had taken a very dim view of how many types of explosives they found in Sergiu’s possession, let alone the small arsenal in the basement) and the FTC had wanted a moment with him as well.

Iced over with UNCLE, within and without – watching, recording and happy to hand over every scrap of evidence gained through proper channels, complete and airtight for the proper authorities to use against him in every court of law Sergiu was now subject to.

He hadn’t even gotten a chance to lay a finger on her.

When it was all over, and Nika had finally gotten a chance to disappear into an empty conference room, she had neatly handed Jody the necklace, slipping out of her shoes. Finding both a box of tissues, and a glass of water, Nika had then stepped away from all of them.

And screamed. 

Nobody had the heart to stop her, only refill her glass when she stopped and drank it quietly as the tears finally fell.

“He was my brother, and I loved him,” she said simply. “He will now live the rest of his life in jail, of his own accord. Mama knew it would end like this, and I am _so angry at her right now for that._ ”

“You can’t be mad at a dog for being a dog, princess.” She had allowed Napoleon to sit close to her, holding a hand as she sobbed.

“No, but he didn’t have to be a dog! And if you won’t remember this, I will – he’s the one who has lost both of his parents, he only has Lexi and I now. Who deserves that?”

“I think, perhaps it would be better if he just had himself for a while,” Illya had said into the resulting silence. 

Nika cried into a wad of tissues, but when the box was exhausted neatly dried her eyes, blew her nose and finished the glass of water.

“I’m ready to go visit Mama,” she said quietly. “I can tell you where she is. Can we go together?”

“Of course, “ Illya had answered. “I’d like that.”

###

Nika had pointed out where Stefan was buried, a simple but expensive marker noting the vital statistics of birth, death and name but nothing more as she strode past to another shaded part of the large cemetery they had drove to on the outskirts of New York City.

UNCLE knew where they were, Patz and Kowalski hanging back with the car as they checked in and began to take deeper breaths as report after report came in that any activity Sergiu had funded had fallen apart, interest lost as their prize had stopped being one and was now just a thirty-something raising a nine year old, disappearing into the fabric of society.

Flowers had been bought – Lexi brought out a string of origami cranes he’d folded over the past days from newspapers, magazines as well as greenbar paper and old blueprints.

Napoleon had brought the most fragrant red roses he could find, a dozen of them so deeply red they looked almost black, velvety petals glistening with water droplets.

Illya held a bouquet of wildflowers, daisies predominantly, smelling fresh and clean, a jumble of colors and textures wrapped in a crinkly cellophane wrapper.

Pointing out the gravesite, marked only with a coded metal tag, Nika indicated that they should all go first as she held back, a folded stock certificate in her hands.

They each laid their gifts on the freshly turned earth, Lexi laying his cranes on top of the flowers. “It’s not a thousand, Mama but I tried. I miss you.”

Then Nika stepped forward, the stock certificate in one hand, a lighter in the other. “Here it is, Mama. Stock certificate #1 – we made it! The company belongs to the world now, it’s in good hands. I think…Sergiu is where he needs to be, Mama. You were right, you were right about everything.”

She carefully lit the rolled paper, allowing the ashes to fall across the grave as it burned. It would be easily replaced with a copy, no question it would be but this was the gift Nika had wanted to leave today.

And then, it was done. Kneeling before the mound of flowers and paper cranes now littered with ashes, Nika bowed her head before rising to her feet.

For now, the work was done and nothing more needed to be said. The dangers were past, everything put to bed and it was now time to look to the future.

Looking to the two men who had loved her mother at both ends of her life, Nika smiled and went to them with open hands to take each of them by one, smiling at her younger brother as he took Napoleon Solo’s other hand himself.

This was Mother’s Day, she thought to herself. Pasha might claim Lexi as his son, she had little doubt of it but she knew he would never take him from her. And as for Pasha’s friend – the Russian.

That would take some time for her to untangle, but now they had it in abundance.

Mother’s Day.

She would be happy and rejoice in it. This day, and all the days to come.

###

**Author's Note:**

> Jody Patz is entirely my creation, built right after I saw "Fifteen Years Later" because I thought Benjamin Kowalski deserved a future, but that would be the only way he'd get one - if he had a partner who could keep him in line. Eileen Roy's Paladin #1 had my turn at the "what happened after that" - "State of Affairs" was her introduction (oh holy hells how long ago was that - it's on printed paper, not the internet) and the first time they met, they HATED each other. (I'll try to resurrect that from the zine and get it posted - it is sadly too short and unfinished a piece to be honest.) Think Katie Kouric for Jody - smart, cute, energetic and hides a dozen weapons in her smile alone.
> 
> And yes, this has been my head cannon for enough years that when I finally cross MUNCLE with the MCU, all of these characters will make the trip. Imagine Jody and Natasha Romanov ordering donuts one day - it'll happen.
> 
> Technology in 1985 was PRIMITIVE. Jeesits Cripes. I had to work to remember what living without a cell phone was like. So glad nobody needed a pay phone. Holy chrome.
> 
> Thank you so much for getting to this place, it means you've read my story. Comments are adored, cherished and bronzed for posterity.


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